


America's Suitehearts

by fromunderthegaytree



Category: America's Suitehearts - Fall Out Boy (Music Video), Fall Out Boy
Genre: I stan Benzedrine so much I stg, It's kinda dark not gonna lie, Multi, fall out boy - Freeform, kill me, this is hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6202594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthegaytree/pseuds/fromunderthegaytree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a massive mess:/ ngl</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Benzedrine/interlude

**Author's Note:**

> ((: kill me this is gonna suck

A caterpillar that got stuck  
Mr. Moth come quick with any luck  
A long walk to a dark ha-ha-house  
A roman candle heart keep us far apart  
I'm cocktail party doing all right  
Hate me baby, maybe I'm a piece of art

 

Perfection isn’t perfect in the land of dreams. 

The land where people retrieve glory and happiness and eventually become drunk on fame and then die in the toxic sewage of drugs, alcohol and forget. Mr Moth wasn’t a mayor or a king. He just knew what to do and he never lied to the people who came from Normal Land. At the end it was the paparazzi that killed you.

 

He needed people, not to succumb to the fame but to help people. He wanted the land of dreams to become perfect or at least near it.

-BENZEDRINE-

Give me a pen  
Call me  
Mr. Benzedrine  
But don't let the doctor in  
I wanna blow off steam and  
Call me  
Mr. Benzedrine (Mr. Benzedrine)  
But don't let the doctor  
Don't let the doctor in  
(trigger warning: suicide)

 

There was Arizona and there was a man. Arizona ate him inside out, he loved it anyway. The desert scrambled his brains. He was known to be frequently prone to nosebleeds in the blistering Arizona air. He lived in a broken house, alone in the desert to ponder about how one day he would be crying liquid gold. He wasn’t rich or happy. If you saw him you would see a short man with a ratty old yellow hoodie and a free Arizona tee-shirt or some other thrift store prize. He was strawberry blonde with mutton-chops. All you saw was that, you couldn’t his liver cancer or his back problem nor did you see the side-effects of benzedrine.

 

It was sunday morning that he’d receive the worst news in his entire life. He took a bus to his new doctor. It smelt like cough syrup and it was too bright in there. He sat with poor posture and stared at the sink across from him as his doctor interviewed him.  
“so, Mr-”  
“call me Benzie, my friends used to call me that.”  
“used to?”  
“California took ‘em away from me.”  
His doctor nodded apologetically at him before asking “you have hepatocellular carcinoma?”  
“liver cancer.” Benzie corrected with a sigh, his voice cracking.  
“it looks like you’re only digging your own grave by taking that much benzedrine.”  
“it makes me feel like I can actually maybe do something, sad, I know..”  
Then the news dropped on him like a bomb. “you don’t even have enough money to start treatment, you’re too far in.”

 

Benzie felt like he was suddenly choked, his lungs felt punctured. He couldn’t continue living. He was on his own and as far as he knew, he wasn’t getting better. Maybe if he had his friends they’d come and help but he wasn’t sure if California took them or it was his distressed anger that scared them off.

 

"are you with me?” his doctor asked patiently before Benzie couldn’t help it and snapped “How the hell do you just watch me suffer? laugh at me? you’re lucky you’re not dead.” he hopped off the wax-paper seating.  
“calm down, okay?”  
“No! you listen to me. You talk to me like that again I swear I’ll have your kidneys hanging out of your mouth!”  
Benzie recalled when security pulled him out and sat him down and spoke to him but it sounded like complete static. He felt lost at words and decided to end it all.

 

He went home and sat on his couch, moth-eaten and stained. He felt disgusting inside out and decided that he couldn’t afford it. He would become weaker and weaker and he’d be a shadow that would turn into ash that nobody would remember. He never felt suicidal but he realized how terrible his life would be no one to at least morally support him. He tried crying but he couldn’t because he felt like he had nothing to lose.  
He turned on the tv so at least he drift off into death. 

 

He laughed at himself. He suddenly remembered when he was actually happy and he was a kid. He had asked his parents to buy him a suit for when died. A yellow one. He felt disappointed at the realization that he would die alone suitless. He couldn’t do anything about it.  
He found a rope in the the closet where he kept towels.  
He found a hook on the ceiling behind the tv. He found a ugly blue bucket and he stepped on before tying the noose around his neck.

 

He didn’t know if he would regret it but he felt nonchalant even if he would end his own life. He knew the police wouldn’t look for him and nobody would cry. It didn’t fill him with reassurance. He sighed and kicked the bucket before his windpipe was knocked like a bat out of hell. His eyes rolled up as he gasped and felt fiery glass in his throat. He was dying and this would be the only exciting thing in his life that would happen to him.

 

He began crying because he didn’t live the life he wanted and he was just unlucky enough to find himself with burdens of health. He felt a flurry of thoughts destroy his brain but suddenly he slipped out. He fell on arm and laid there for a minute. He tried swallowing air and it felt like hitting a bruise each time. He was going to die but now he was suffocating and his brain buzzed. Benzie spotted the green goo drip from the television as he crawled to it. He was weak and pathetic for only the birds outside to see.

 

The sound of the noose holding his weight creaked like a phantom as he gasped for air, his brain rabid like a dog’s. There was too many thoughts in his mind but he subconsciously dragged his body across the carpet before his mind buzzed like a magnet as he crawled through the green slime.

 

This was a sign. He took it.  
He pushed himself forward before he fell maybe a foot down. He looked up and walked through a door before the lights of paparazzi blinded him. He fought the hands that grabbed his weak arm. His eyes squinted as voices poured his ears.

 

“Enough!”  
He looked up as the noise quieted down.  
“Leave him be.” A man with a red and black suit ordered.  
“Who are you?” Benzie felt some light degree of terror.  
“Mr Benzedrine, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Mr Moth.”  
Benzie felt the paparazzi stare as the man continued.  
“You’re in the Land of Dreams, we all need your help. I chose you.”  
“Why?”  
“It’s none of your concern, friend.”  
He looked down at his sneakers.  
He felt like this couldn’t be a dream. If it was a dream, he wouldn’t be feeling the blinding flashes of the cameras.  
He toughen up, deciding not to cry as they cleared out of his way.

 

He wanted to sneak away, maybe dying would be better than this.  
There was a large wooden sign with engraved words and a direction next to it.  
‘Benzie’s Lab’

 

He felt his eyebrows furrow, why lab?  
He always wanted to go to med school and help people but he never had the money nor could he save himself.  
He followed as he felt like his mind was cut off clean from any negative thoughts at the moment.

 

He entered the home where a organized bit of bookshelves stood near a comfortable looking bed. It looked plain as all hell but comfortable.  
There was a ring on the floor which pulled up the trapdoor to the basement. The laboratory.

 

It was dim and smelt like attic dust. He worked better in darkness anyway. There was a shelf where a grey lab coat laid folded but the sharp colour of yellow did next to it. A yellow suit with a yellow vest and button up and a bow-tie. Just like the one he wanted as a kid.  
Was it possible that Mr Moth knew everything about him even if Benzie had never met him in his entire short life?

 

He shook the thought away before grabbing the top hat and putting it on.  
The lab was decorated with flasks and burners. He was always a bright and smart kid, intellectually and scholarly. He was never rich though.

 

Benzie pulled a drawer open and grabbed a mirror.  
He looked inside and saw blemishes and imperfections. He could live with that. He couldn’t live what hid behind the heterochromic eyes.  
A man who was once a kid and happy, he grew up poor and the part of himself made people leave him and the financial problems.  
What a clown.

 

He grabbed paint, white like porcelain before covering his entire face.  
He looked for a minute at his reflexion.  
This was happening and he was changing.  
He wasn’t a nobody.  
He was Mr Benzedrine and he wasn’t going to be loved again.  
At least not outside of what hellish heaven this was.  
He added red paint to his lips before he looked once more before he decided that he would be him.  
He went and threw his yellow hoodie into the sewage to a exit of his old life and enter to his new one.


	2. Sandman/Interlude

-MR SANDMAN-

Mr. Sandman showing his beam  
When he walks into the room the walls lean in to listen  
Surfed out brain waves flick back and forth  
Like old headlights sniffing model glue again

 

His eyes started to burn after staring at his ceiling for two hours. No matter what he tried to do so he could fall asleep, it ended up as a complete failure. Surrounded by his swarm of blankets, his heart beat loudly in his ears, it was always getting worse. Dry and long hours of trying to sleep until he finally felt the sun shine through his window blinds. 

 

Two birds were perched on the branch of a leafless tree outside his window. After taking a shower, he got dressed in some baggy stained hoodie with jeans that he lost count of how many times he wore in a row. He didn’t have time to eat breakfast since he had an appointment with his doctor. His doctor was now well aware of his lack of sleep. 

 

He spent 20 minutes in the waiting room, hearing the elderly cough and babies crying was a common sound in waiting rooms but this time he was only with four people who were unbelievably quiet.

A middle aged woman behind a computer looked over the screen and called his last name, he got up and started to walk down the hall before walking into a empty room with a chair and some cabinets and a dripping sink. He rubbed his hands on his face stressfully before his doctor walked in with a clipboard. 

 

“Good morning mr-” “It’s just Sandman.” He interrupted the doctor. “Why that name?” Sandman didn’t answer, he was too tired and stressed to tell the story of how his friends would give him that name whenever he told them what their dreams meant. “It says here that the zolpidem pills aren’t working with you?” Sandman nodded, “did you try doubling the dose?” Sandman nodded, he tried almost everything. 

 

“Alright.” The doctor reached over the counter and grabbed a short green plastic bottle of pills. “Ill put you on ramelteon for a bit, hopefully that works.” He handed Sandman the bottle before handing him a bill, “you don’t have to pay right away but make sure you send a cheque to us.” Sandman nodded, getting up then walking out of the office and out of the building. 

After a day of laying around and eating only noodles, it was finally late. He got ready for bed, washing his face before crawling in bed. He always had the window open since the heat always used to wake him up. His eyelids grew ever before he began to feel his breath start to get heavy and slow. He started to see what seemed to be a piano and a bench in a dark and empty room. His breathing was the only thing he could hear, he began to make his way over to the piano.

He sat on the bench before starting to play some random keys. He was distracted and intrigued when playing that he did not see the wooden lid that was above the piano slam down on his fingers. The pain was unbearable and rose to his shoulder and the aftermath of scream happened. He felt his fingers grow numb. He pulled his hands away and glanced at his fingers, bloodied and torn off. Flesh hanging of what remained of the bloody stumps. He quickly got up and ran to two doors. He could hear from the right door what seemed to be the sharpening of an metal weapon accompanied by some stifled laughter. His hands tried gripping the left door but he couldn’t open it, his fingers were gone. He felt his heartbeat grow rapid as he heard the right door creak open.

That’s how he woke up, clutching his sheets which were damp from him sweating. He stared at the ceiling, gaining a slower breath so he could calm down. He got up and went to the washroom, staring at the mirror and looking at his fingers before sighing in relief. It was morning.

He then later went to his friend’s house, seeing their piano send chills down his spine.  
He sat on the couch and relaxed, his muscles untightened before he saw his friends walk over to the piano.  
“Don’t.” He warned and sat up.

His friend stopped immediately “what is it?”   
“It’s dangerous..”  
His friend scoffed loudly before he looked carefully.  
“You’re right, for some reason all the piano strings are broken.”  
Pete sighed in relief “how’d you know that?”  
“Nightmares.”

 

For then, his friends all called him Mr. Sandman. His friends often came and seeked for advice like he would read their tarots. His thoughts and theorems of the future were always accurate. He was asked if he wanted to present his power to more people, for fame and glory. He never wanted it. He just cared about sleep.

 

His life ended presumably around a quarter after nine. He was sick, phlegm in his throat and congestion solid in his nasal passage. He had taken some medicine before he had become drowsy. 

The ringing in his ears grew like a Cathedral bell. He took nyquil before taking his pills. He needed the sleep like he needed oxygen except with his head in the stratosphere, he was dopey.

He felt his heart accelerate as he tiredly fell against the bed, sleeping immediately. He died afterwards, his friends would’ve found his corpse on his bed, threatening to decay but the most peculiar thing happened.  
He woke up.

 

He sat up confused, thinking he had woken up but he went to check his pulse. He didn’t feel it. He was dead, was that possible? The television in his room which was buzzing static suddenly sludged into green goo. Was this another nightmare? He was dead and now ooze of lime was pouring out of his own tv. 

 

He couldn’t make himself go on, he stared in awe at the screen before the goo made itself onto his bed, sucking his feet. “No!” He grabbed something to pull off but he was reeled into the screen as he screamed in fear.

He fell down and woke up, he felt lightheaded and saw a dark hallway and a light, he walked hesitantly towards it. He stepped foot and he could swear he went blind for the second. Lights and flashes bombarded his vision as he pushed through before a man in a red jacket looked at him.

“Mr. Sandman.” He nodded respectfully and pulled him out of the crowdy. “H-how do yuh-you know my nuh-name?” He was having the shakes, feeling went numb.  
“I dirige the Land of Dreams and we need you. We need you and your power to know the meaning of dreams.”   
“Why?” He snapped. 

 

“Because it’s not perfect here, I’d love to explain more but I’m a very busy man.”   
He pushed him away. Sandman groaned and walked up to sign near some weird river of green goo. “What the fuck?” He whispered and then he looked up.

 

There was a man in a yellow suit on a carousel, he was talking to Mr Moth.   
He saw where the sign led to and followed. It got darker where trees stood, a forest.  
There was a cottage there and a sign with his name.  
He kicked it over angrily and stomped inside.

 

It was just as dark on the outside as the inside. He went to wash his hands to remove the feeling of disgust but saw his reflection. He looked pale and innocent. He didn’t like it. He wanted to be home but he was here to help some no-good people.. He went and found facepaint in a drawer. 

He would make sure that if he was here, nobody would come to care about him, he didn’t need them. He traced a wide grimace across his lips and traced it black as he nodded. It looked good but he still looked like some kid playing with make up. 

He found a wall decoration which was sharp and plastic. He tore it apart before he had sharp pieces. He sighed but saw a cape on his bed. Dark and everything you should be afraid of. He conjoined the pieces and cape together before wearing it.  
He finally looked like a nightmare himself. The one who hides under beds and can only smile grimly.

 

He laughed to himself. Funny, he was the one suffering from nightmares until he became one himself.


	3. Horseshoe Crab/Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy this took awhile

-Horseshoe Crab-

All the Yes men said 'no comment'  
My mouth got going the wrong way and all the calls started snowing  
The time my dad caught me a horseshoe crab  
And I asked him if throwing it back into the sea would bring our luck back

 

The Kirklands lived in lake Michigan. They were all fishermen, except for H.S that is. He never fit in with his family nor at school. He wasn’t geeky enough to hang with the geeks nor was he talented enough to hang with the jocks. He was just the kid who would trip and smash his face in cafeteria food. 

 

To face it, he wasn’t lucky. His dad always helped him. He could remember after the toughest days he’d fish with his dad. He never caught anything good, he figured it was his bad luck. On August 1st, he went home with a black eye and a chipped tooth.  
He was fifteen then, goofy and clumsy, dark brown curly hair which devoured his cranium. Of course, even his schoolmates got around to make fun of his hair by calling him Napoleon Dynamite. 

 

He was on the bus and some senior came and ripped his leather backpack of the seat and went to walk away. There were only three people left on the bus, he did it anyway. He yelled curses at this senior, tall and built like a truck. He remembered his hair being pulled before his head was smashed repeatedly against the bus window. He felt pain like hot metal of his scalp. He didn’t notice the fist which jammed his eyes into a yellow and purple bruise.

 

Once the senior got off the bus, he felt himself rip like paper as hot tears ran down his face. He wasn’t crying because of the pain, he felt overwhelmed. He cried like a tower of anxiety and depression built and held unstably until he finally broke down.

 

When he got home, he threw his bag down before running to his room so he cry alone. He smelt the sole his mother was cooking and heard arguing. H.S cried and grabbed a rabbit foot he had gotten as a souvenir. It never worked.  
His father walked in and his eyes softened. His father was a good man who accepted everyone and supported everything H.S ever did. 

 

“Do you want to go fish?” He asked and sat on the end of H.S’ bed. “No..” He shook his head and wiped his eyes.  
“How about a walk?”  
He sighed and pulled out of bed. He grabbed a red sweatshirt and sneakers.

 

They both walked along the shore as H.S vented about how unlucky he was. His family never believed in luck except H.S. It was then his father noticed something. “Hey, look.” He commented before picking up the horseshoe crab. H.S grabbed it and looked at the crustacean.

 

He suddenly remembered reading in a book of symbolism, the luck a horseshoe held. “Dad, do you think if I threw this in the water, it’d make me lucky?”   
Despite his dad repeated that luck didn’t exist, he threw it back in the murky water.

 

Years later, he was eighteen, he had grown even more unlucky and he hated it. At least he had family and his dad. It was a Saturday when he came home from school and policemen were on the couch. By the cups of tea and the sympathetic looks by the police with his mother’s red eyes from crying. 

 

He knew his dad was dead. His life changed forever. He packed his suitcases and ran away. It was the dead of night and he ran, crying.   
He ran onto the street as a truck advanced. H.S turned, his ankle twisted as he fell screaming for the vehicle to stop. His heart in his throat and fear racking his brain. 

The most unlikely moment happened, lightning struck right beside the truck as its electricity took a toll on the engine of the truck. The engine stopped entirely as the trucker jerked forward. H.S got up, breathless and confused as he realized something. This was so impossible yet it happened, the horseshoe crab must have started to work. H.S continued to run, he found the nearest hotel and decided to test his luck on the casino a couple blocks from the hotel. When he walked in, he felt eyes stare at him. Most people were dressed nicely as they drank and gambled and here he was, a failed fisherman testing his luck. 

 

He found the nearest machine, it was one of those three match machines. He put in his money and saw the rows spin into three cherries. The game made a ecstatic noise which sounded like a ping as coins piled into the money slot. He grabbed the coins and presumed to more machines. He won every single time and at that one casino, he earned big. 

 

Was it months or years later, he couldn’t tell.. The alcoholic drinks stinging his tongue and the sound of chips hitting the poker table; they hypnotised him. However, he had many friends despite the absence of them as a child. He didn’t argue though. He was sort of confused about how life. How was his mother doing? Was she okay? Godohfuckinghellismomokay oh god.. Was the vicious thoughts of the man. He felt dragged as his friends cheered to him as they all shrieked in delight when he won a game, he just wanted to go home and shower.

 

For a few months he discovered that he was clinically depressed, he was on prozac. He had trouble sleeping as he blinked dreadfully at the hotel ceiling..After awhile he felt like his feelings were worn and not raw as they were. 

 

It was a evening again at his friend Mick.D’s house. People were seated on the leather couch as Mick’s gritty voice sang. “Hey! I have an idea.” H.S could tell that his friend was drunk as hell, he could already hear the phone call in the morning that he was hungover and that he needed some chalky meds. His pulse went again as his lungs tripped as clenched his teeth. They were looking at him. “I bet that H.S can catch these knives!” His bloodshot eyes darted to the collector’s knives in the dish cabinet. 

 

H.S got up, his legs heavy like lead and his hands shook so hard, his forearms felt so weak. He stood against the wall as the guests chattered excitedly and some clapped with enthusiasm. It felt all vicious. Mick staggered and removed the knives from the cardboard box. H.S knew that he could catch the knives, he was full of luck. His friend focused on him, squinting before throwing one. He caught it by the handle, breathing out in relief. The second one came and as if something broke his luck at the moment, the knife stabbed him.

 

The blade pulled through his cheek. Pain seared his body as the silent glass in his throat whistled before a screamed ripped from his lips. It was hysterical, the sound of officially losing it. The guests screamed loudly and some left the room to leave the house. Mick sobered up quickly, speechless. The pain was like hot metal against a raw pink wound. His brain froze up and everything went blurry and white. The hurt was too much that he didn’t notice the blood dripping off his face and pooling on the marble floor. ithurtsfuckfuckkillIhateMickfuckfuck!! He fell on his back, passing out.

 

He woke up in darkness.. Was he dead? No, he was in the hospital, the beeping of machines. His cheek hurt but felt better. Was that thread? He ran his tongue over the stitched up hole in his mouth. He got up to use the washroom. He must’ve been here for days.. There were some cards but he couldn’t be interested. He dragged his barefeet to the room connected to the hospital room. He looked in the mirror, his face lit by a nightlight. His face looked ominous.. He noticed that in his beard there was a shaved circle around the scar. They probably did that before the operation. It looked awful. He looked tired and he began to cry. 

 

He laughed at himself crying. It felt so embarrassing. Out of the corner of his teary eyes, there was fluorescent green. He looked and saw a puddle of green goo. He felt confused but decided to follow the trail which was back into his room. He heard static and looked up at the hospital tv. It was grotesque, covered in miserable slime. He hesitantly reached his hand toward it before it sucked up his hand and his forearm. He was too mesmerised to scream but tried pulling away. His arm reached up and his feet didn’t touch the ground. The substance was dragging him into the tv. He screamed loudly, shaking his head in fear.

 

It was too late and he felt like he fell. He looked up at a bright light. He got up and dusted off his hospital gown before making his way to the light. The sound of cameras bombarded him with voices. He was definitely too tired for this. It stopped and someone spoke. He felt too frustrated with the aftermath pain in his face to focus on what it was saying. The sea of people stepped aside as a man in a suit welcomed him. 

 

“Hello, I was expecting you and your luck.”  
“What luck? I got stabbed in the face?”  
Paparazzi snickered as Mr. Moth shook his head “I’m afraid that was fate.”  
“Oh, so I’m here for what?”   
“I chose you to help people with their dangerous deeds since you’re so ridden with luck, I’d love to explain more but I have people to lead.”

 

H.S sighed and walked on a road before he felt someone grab his shoulder. It was a strange old man, bittersweet looking. “Hey sonny, are you H.S?” He shrugged “I suppose I am.” He didn’t have much of a choice now. “Anyway, I had a dream.. Mr Sandman, creepy guy but very nice told me what it meant..”  
H.S took a step back “oh-uh, what did you dream?” The old man breathed in “It was about Mr Benzedrine, the fellow with the tonics and the yellow hat, his bad side came out, the Dr..” He furrowed his brows with confusion “Dr Jerkyll and Mr Hyde?” 

 

The old man gave a confused look but sighed “It was scary, bad things happened..just stay away from Mr Benzedrine, you hear?”  
“Oh?” H.S gave a reassuring smile before walking to where the sign pointed, trying to avoid the man. He ended up in some woods. Hot and smoky, a cottage nustled in trees. He was up the porch and entered.

 

It was cooler in there than outside. He sat on a bed, staring at the mirror across his bed. He grabbed some shears on the dresser before cutting around the shaven area. It looked ridiculous but the style made him giggle. His dad has that mustache when he was seven.. He grabbed the red clothes in the dresser since he felt no mood to wear a hospital gown. He looked decent. 

 

He laid on the bed, closing his eyes. What would pa think? He knew in his heart that his dad would want him to help others. He could inspire and help so many with his luck. He would do it, for his dad and himself.


	4. Donnie Catcher/Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhoooooooo boy this hurt to write:::::)

-DONNIE CATCHER-

I got troubled thoughts  
And the self-esteem to match  
What a catch, what a catch

You'll never catch us  
So just let me be  
Said I'll be fine  
Till the hospital or American Embassy  
Miss Flack said I still want you back  
Yeah, Miss Flack said I still want you back

 

Donnie was nicest person ever, you could ask anyone. He was thoughtful and sweet. He was a man with long dark hair and a ginger beard, glasses too. He looked aggressive but his voice was soft. He adored flowers and his mother. If you asked who he was from his teammates, he’d be catcher. Donnie, catcher for the community baseball team. 

 

The Sprucehill Leprechauns wore their pride of their sleeve. They were competitive, with sneering grins traced with chewing tobacco and greased hair, Donnie didn’t fit in. It was late in the afternoon, the sun blazed everyone’s backs and he felt exhausted, eyes burning and a migraine appearing subtly. 

 

Finally, the game ended and people clapped each other on the backs. Donnie spotted a daisy sprouting on the grass and observed it, crouched and bemused. It was crushed by the one and only, Timothy Tesauro. His shoe twisted on the plant and left only a stem for proof of existence. Donnie’s smile fell and he looked up at the man. “Just because your mom was a feminine bitch doesn’t mean you have be her.” He sneered and left. 

 

He squinted his eyes at the blistering sun, his throat uncomfortably dry and his lips bumpy from chewing on them. He sighed and walked into clean change rooms. He grabbed a towel before going into a stall to undress and stealthily go to the showers. He went to the corner and showered, scared of being jumped again. He wasn’t sure if the cool water was refreshing or not. He wrapped the towel around his waist before tiptoeing to his stall.

 

He walked in but his clothes were nowhere to be seen. Before he could turn away, the door slammed and the players cackled and giggled as he heard one of the locks used to protect jewelry and phones slam on the outside of the stall lock. He pounded his wet hands against the door. He was screaming, his voice sounded like a rabbit, shrieking for it’s life. He sounded pathetic in his ears, his low self-esteem bit viciously like a cobra. He heard them run out.

 

There wasn’t any noise, he spread his towel on the bench before lying on it and sobbing. Hot tears ran down vertically, hitting the towel. “Ffff-uck..” He whispered and hiccuped. The janitor got there at five and it was quarter to four.. His brain flew off and he began thinking about the times his teammates hurt him so.. Mostly insults that haunt him at night and the time he was a community game with his team. He had went to pee and when he returned, the bus was driving off. The nicest person on the team, Justin, told him that Timothy and Ed had convinced the driver that he was gone. 

 

Donnie felt his blood run cold and a sob fly out. His lips curled out in a silent scream. He closed his eyes. He remembered suddenly that day..there was a time when he had come back for his glove and he felt his skull knocked on the locker. Something grabbed his hair and pulled him back, he thought his scalp and hair would separate and his skin would rip from his skull. He was knocked back again into the locker. He shrieked “stop!” 

 

He was finally let go and he fell to his knees. He breathed in and out, panic spreading like a disease throughout his aching body. He blinked away tears before he could look at the culprit. Timothy, grinning with beaming proud. Donnie backed and cornered into the showers. He felt terrible and afraid. He thought his life was going to end and the police would find his mutilated corpse, a sad death. Sad in the way it would be so embarrassing. 

 

He breathed hot fire, his lungs shallow; breath short. “Please, don’t..” He croaked and held his shaking arms to defend his face. Timothy walked over and began cursing and laughing. Donnie wasn’t listening, he was finding his breath and his regular calm pulse. Timothy stopped speaking and kicked him in the shin, the knee, the stomach and the groin. Donnie was screeching in pain.

“Why are you d-doing this?” Donnie wiped his eyes but they were probably red and soaking in tears. A strike of realization of ‘maybe I should cut poor ol’ Donnie some slack’ never hit the face of his bully. He grinned, slimy and pure evil. “You’re just a shit baseball player, but you never quit.” Donnie yelled out “That’s why?!” He shrugged and crouched to a sobbing Donnie who was curled in the corner. “I know even if I had killed your mom, you wouldn’t quit..” 

 

The way he had said it so nonchalantly to him made his stomach curl. The death of his mom never bothered him, it was peaceful and calm. He held her hand and she took her last breath. He had the chance to say goodbye. But the thought of somebody hurting the person he cared about made him shiver and shrivel like a paper on fire. He knocked the boy out of his thoughts by pushing his head on the tiled wall, his eyes rolled up drowsily in pain at the florescent lights. “Listen when I’m speaking maggot.” Donnie pushed him away. 

 

It was strongly and so irritated. He hissed at him and narrowed his eyes. He looked surprised at Donnie pushing him. His eyes were wide and then narrowed. He remembered how defenseless he was when his bully grabbed his hair and smashed his head repeatedly on the tile. He felt his head pound in pain as he curled and groaned. A sudden fire grew at his ribs and it blossomed into hurt. Timothy kicked him in the stomach and ribs. He got the wind knocked out of him. When his bully got his pick, he left. There was only the sound of water dripping from the shower and his loud gross sobbing.

 

Donnie recoiled from the memory and heard the janitor enter. He dragged himself off the bench, quickly wrapping the towel around him. He pounded on the door “let me out! Please, help!” He heard him approaching and the lock shake until it clicked. It dropped and Donnie walked out. “Thank you.” He smiled embarrassed. “How did this happen to you, boy?” He sighed “just some teammates playin’ around.” He giggled in a false joyment and looked down. 

 

“How long have you been in ther-” “since four.” The janitor furrowed his eyebrows “sounds like those teammates weren’t really playing around, huh?” He narrowed his eyes at Donnie’s dishonesty which made him feel guilty to the core. He looked for his clothes, they weren’t there..

 

The janitor was near the sinks before he called out “hey, are these your clothes?” He went around the line of lockers to see his clothes were in fact, in the sink, drenched. He gasped in disgust before shaking his head and going to put them on. His face was red from embarrassment as he went and changed into them. He hated the feeling of wet fabric but they would do. He walked to his house, it was already dark out. 

 

His nose burnt in frustration and his eyes teared up from an ocean of humiliation, anger and glumness. He unlocked his door with the key under the doormat. He walked upstairs and changed into a tee and boxers. He massaged his temples, trying to dismiss a headache. He looked at the framed pictures on the wall. One of himself when he was about twelve, he had a huge grin spread of his face and was holding a baseball and a trophy. His mom was the one who took the photo, she wanted to capture everything. There was a picture of his mom in the lake, she was trying to convince him that there weren’t any sharks in a freshwater body of water.  
Another was taken by his mom’s friend when they went hiking. 

 

He felt a pang of nostalgia, he felt better. He went and water his plants, something he cared a lot. They looked very bright and never failed to make Donnie feel great. He went to bed, lying there. He was on the verge of slumber but remembered the game. The one that his team had practiced for awhile.. He felt unnerved, he had pushed the thought away since it scared him so much.. 

 

The next day, Donnie caught up on sleep since he hadn’t gotten much the night before. It was 8 PM, the game was in an hour. He walked to the diamond, already in the white and green uniform. Everybody was laughing cheerily together and for a second, he felt comfort and safety. He felt something push him from behind. Timothy was glaring, a warning if you say. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it as they mounted the bus.

 

Donnie sat alone in the back, staring at streetlights passing and he thought to himself. ‘Say goodbye.’   
The game started and he felt the urge to scream and curl up. He couldn’t describe the feeling that was occuring, it hurt. He was tired and anxious.   
He could barely keep his eyes open.

 

They played and he did poorly, when the team was almost to the winning point. Everybody looked at Donnie, as to say: don’t fail us.  
His arm felt like jello and he kept failing. His teammates grew angry and that didn’t help as their focus poured into hating Donnie.  
They lost.

 

The other team cheered and screamed as Donnie ran out, to home. He’d be safe.  
He was walking in an alley, a shortcut. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his teammates. He began to scramble away but Ed pulled him to the ground as other held him down. He screeched in pain before a fist flew and hit his eye. It had swollen up, tears dripping out the slit you’d call an eye.

 

Insults, they struck him.   
There was a sea of them, it was overwhelming. He would’ve burst into tears if it weren’t that the pain in his eye hollered at him.   
His arms were held down to the dusty ground as Timothy walked over with an aluminum baseball bat.   
“I’m gonna bash your brains in!”   
Donnie realized that his life could go in the gutter in any moment. He bit on the hand, screaming as he squirmed restlessly. He broke loose and crawled for help. Someone grabbed his arm, pulling it roughly as it dislocated his shoulder.

 

He screamed out in pain, hair covering his vision. The bat went down on his legs, he fell. His ribs were kicked and some broke, his eyes were both hit, Justin had ran in and begged Timothy to stop but couldn’t so convinced him to not bash Donnie’s head.

 

Donnie passed out, looking awful, breathing shallow.  
“Fuck.. We should call the ambulance..” Cam muttered in guilt but they knew they’d get arrested. They dragged Donnie to his house and picklocked it.

 

They laid Donnie on the couch, barely breathing. Justin had followed, worried. “He’s asthmatic..” He said quietly, which the team only replied with a chuckle, thinking it was a joke.   
Timothy knew Donnie was severly asthmatic, he didn’t care. They covered their traces and turned on the tv on low so neighbours would think he’d be watching something.  
They left.

 

Finally, Donnie came to, he couldn’t see much, he winced as he got up. He cried out when he moved his shoulder, he fell of the furniture. He laid on the floor, breathing weakly, his brain felt like smashed pumpkins. He looked up and his television oozed brightly with a welcoming goo.

 

He whispered hoarsely “somebody.. Help.. I-help..” He crawled slowly, hearing his body dragging against the wood, thumping. He crawled in as he felt a shock pierce him.   
Donnie landed on the ground, in darkness. He saw a doorway, he stood up. No injuries. His breathing was alright, steady.. He made his way to the doorway.

 

Lights blinded him as he brought his hands to his eyes, confused. It stopped by itself as they looked in one direction and stopped taking photos. They were people, paparazzi..  
A man in red came over and introduced himself as Mr Moth.  
“We need someone, we need you.”  
This didn’t bother Donnie, he didn’t have anything to do in the real world, he would’ve been dead.

 

“We need a someone as kind and sweet as you to speak for them, you have the right morals.”   
“You think so?”  
“Yes! We could also use a star athlete..”  
Donnie shook his head at this “I’m not a star-”  
“Nonsense! You can also get revenge on your teammates..”

 

This shocked Donnie slightly, he would never wish anything bad on anyone.. “I-I don’t k-know..”  
Mr Moth’s face dropped into a menacing frown before it plastered into a grin, threatening and fake. “It’ll be fine, come on.”  
“U-uh, I’ll think about it..”  
He clenched his jaw in annoyance “of course..”

 

Donnie walked in fear away, he saw a carousel. There were silhouettes, yellow, black and red. They stared at him and Donnie wondered to himself what he had gotten in.


End file.
